Part 5 (1/2)

Suns.h.i.+ne and shadow, blue sky and gray, Laughter and tears as we tread on our way; Hearts that are heavy, then hearts that are light, Eyes that are misty and eyes that are bright; Losses and gains in the heat of the strife, Each in proportion to round out his life.

Into the crucible, stirred by the years, Go all our hopes and misgivings and fears; Glad days and sad days, our pleasures and pains, Worries and comforts, our losses and gains.

Out of the crucible shall there not come Joy undefiled when we pour off the sc.u.m?

Out of the sadness and anguish and woe, Out of the travail and burdens we know, Out of the shadow that darkens the way, Out of the failure that tries us to-day, Have you a doubt that contentment will come When you've purified life and discarded the sc.u.m?

Tinctured with sorrow and flavored with sighs, Moistened with tears that have flowed from your eyes; Perfumed with sweetness of loves that have died, Leavened with failures, with grief sanctified, Sacred and sweet is the joy that must come From the furnace of life when you've poured off the sc.u.m.

Unimportant Differences

If he is honest, kindly, true, And glad to work from day to day; If when his bit of toil is through With children he will stoop to play; If he does always what he can To serve another's time of need, Then I shall hail him as a man And never ask him what's his creed.

If he respects a woman's name And guards her from all thoughtless jeers; If he is glad to play life's game And not risk all to get the cheers; If he disdains to win by bluff And scorns to gain by shady tricks, I hold that he is good enough Regardless of his politics.

If he is glad his much to share With them who little here possess, If he will stand by what is fair And not desert to claim success, If he will leave a smile behind As he proceeds from place to place, He has the proper frame of mind, And I won't stop to ask his race.

For when at last life's battle ends And all the troops are called on high We shall discover many friends That thoughtlessly we journeyed by.

And we shall learn that G.o.d above Has judged His creatures by their deeds, That millions there have won His love Who spoke in different tongues and creeds.

The Fis.h.i.+ng Outfit

You may talk of stylish raiment, You may boast your broadcloth fine, And the price you gave in payment May be treble that of mine.

But there's one suit I'd not trade you Though it's shabby and it's thin, For the garb your tailor made you: That's the tattered, Mud-bespattered Suit that I go fis.h.i.+ng in.

There's no king in silks and laces And with jewels on his breast, With whom I would alter places.

There's no man so richly dressed Or so like a fas.h.i.+on panel That, his luxuries to win, I would swap my s.h.i.+rt of flannel And the rusty, Frayed and dusty Suit that I go fis.h.i.+ng in.

'Tis an outfit meant for pleasure; It is freedom's raiment, too; It's a garb that I shall treasure Till my time of life is through.

Though perhaps it looks the saddest Of all robes for mortal skin, I am proudest and I'm gladdest In that easy, Old and greasy Suit that I go fis.h.i.+ng in.

Grown Up

Last year he wanted building blocks, And picture books and toys, A saddle horse that gayly rocks, And games for little boys.

But now he's big and all that stuff His whim no longer suits; He tells us that he's old enough To ask for rubber boots.

Last year whatever Santa brought Delighted him to own; He never gave his wants a thought Nor made his wishes known.

But now he says he wants a gun, The kind that really shoots, And I'm confronted with a son Demanding rubber boots.

The baby that we used to know Has somehow slipped away, And when or where he chanced to go Not one of us can say.

But here's a helter-skelter lad That to me nightly scoots And boldly wishes that he had A pair of rubber boots.

I'll bet old Santa Claus will sigh When down our flue he comes, And seeks the babe that used to lie And suck his tiny thumbs, And finds within that little bed A grown up boy who hoots At building blocks, and wants instead A pair of rubber boots.

Departed Friends